Well… the house isn’t going to look how I wanted it to look when I scheduled two weeks to get ready. Sad face. But pushing anyone else or myself harder is not going to get it done and we have to be ready to leave the house for the airport in a little less than four hours.

What will be, will be. Sigh.

I am really really really struggling with how upset I am about going to Texas. I don’t want to go to Texas. I hate Texas. I thought I got to break up with Texas. If the baby were no longer nursing… I would not be going.

Fuck cancer. I don’t want to go to Texas.

I’m not going for any of the funerals to come over the next few years. But Noah and the kids want to say goodbye to a nice guy. The baby still needs me. So I’m going to fucking Texas.

I am struggling with how explosively angry I feel about going. I don’t want to go to Texas. I struggle with how much I place the happiness of my family members over my own.

I have a lot of shit to do. I could be here in my own space doing. Instead I get to spend a lot of time and energy on Texas. Which has not been a source of good in my life. So I get to go drain myself dry for a place and people that are just a source of pain for me. Fuck Texas. I hate Texas.

I am really sad for the poor guy who is sick. That’s really not fair.

I’m being a self pitying asshole. I’m trying not to take it out on the people around me. This is hard.

Fuck.